


Bite Hard

by snoozingkitten



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Zombies, F/F, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-07
Updated: 2013-01-07
Packaged: 2017-11-24 02:15:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,448
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/629191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snoozingkitten/pseuds/snoozingkitten
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The end of the world isn’t actually about the undead-- it was about the people left.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bite Hard

The thing was, at the end of the world being human was the only thing that separated you from them, so much that it became the only way to define yourself. They were the stretched and distorted image in a funhouse mirror sort of funny but a serious case of the creepy-crawly, but what was humanity really? 

Stiles really fucking missed the Internet. 

“Man, I miss porn.” Stiles mumbled. 

Scott looked up from where he was digging a shallow fire pit while Stiles kept watch, offered him one of those silent lopsided smiles of solidarity that had got Stiles through countless childhood lectures and went back to digging. 

\--

Jackson wasn’t holding up well under the pressure. Lydia could see that; he was beginning to crack and crumble around the edges, strung out from being filthy and scared all the time. Still, she couldn’t bring herself to just leave him. Deep down she knew she should because she had always been smarter than to let him drag her down. 

He was going to break and it would only hold her back. Survival was important, a pretty face didn’t mean much out here. What was Jackson’s money and status going to get her now? Nothing. Fat lot of nothing. Lydia never did anything for nothing. Her middle name was practicality (it had seemed practical.)

“Shh,” she whispered. They were stuffed in a closet that didn’t close properly but she’d rigged it up days ago so that it latched shut from the inside. They were pressed thigh to thigh, breathing the same air. Jackson’s heart thundered against hers like a scared rabbit. Outside they shuffled, moaning softly in hunger at least they had stopped clawing at the doors. 

Lydia rested her head on his broad shoulder and let him take her weight so he could feel solid and in charge. She was thinking about new ways to combine what was left of the chemicals in the chemistry room. She wanted to watch this place burn. 

\--

Allison crouched low on the side of the road. Her car had broken down miles ago and her boots were really beginning to blister her feet, toes cramped and feeling too hot. Next stop she was getting a pair of boots like her dad had, solid things made for walking and curb stomping. 

She wanted to cry thinking of her family. _Family_. Just her Dad now. Mom turned. What use was there in crying over spilled blood? Focus. Allison felt scattered unable to keep her thoughts in line when her feet her and her stomach tight with hunger.

The only thing she had left was the belief he was out there and she was going to find him. She had to believe that or she was going to go insane. Plenty of people had lost their families since the world ended and they dealt, but that didn’t matter. It just didn’t matter. 

One of them shambled out onto the road. It stumbled sightlessly, dragging toes scraped raw against the asphalt. Allison levelled her crossbow and let it sing. The bolt sailed straight and true, embedding itself right in the side of its head with a soft hollow sound. She waited a count of five breaths before stealing out onto the road to retrieve the bolt. 

\--

Stiles had found a bag of cheese puffs and had dyed his fingers all a sticky orange when the stolen car rolled to a stop in the middle of the woods (he had once googled how to hotwire a car and still remembered lucky for them). It was a Yaris of all things, but the fuel efficiency was off the chart and that was what they needed from it. 

As much as he would like to steal a Ferrari and take it on a joy ride across the badlands--

“Why haven’t we stolen a sports car yet?” Stiles asked. “Not to like use but just to try? I mean it’s probably not worth dying over but it’d be fun right?” 

“Yeah.” Scott hummed. “Woah.” He stepped on the brakes.

She stood on the side of the road casual as you like, massive crossbow dangling from her fingers and pistols strapped to her thigh. From this far away it was hard to tell how old she was, only that she had a fall of dark hair and that she levelled a shotgun on the car as it crawled to a stop. 

You could smell the crazy on her (younger than he first thought maybe just out of high school), wild eyes and dark hair tangled and knotted around her head. She didn’t blink. 

Had Stiles been the one driving, they would have kept going, stopped to look at the nut-case on the side of the road like the freakshow she was and kept on moving. They could barely keep each other alive. That and people sucked. The world was probably better off without them. 

“Scott no. Keep going,” Stiles hissed, sinking into his seat. 

“We can’t just leave her,” Scott said sounding all to reasonable. Stiles shook his head violently. This is why (they) Scott wasn’t allowed to be in charge. 

“Yes we can. Easy. Step on the gas. Go, she’s back there and we’re gone. Without her.”

Scott frowned at him but didn’t say anything. 

He rolled down the window, slowly; it was one of those crank ones, and Stiles wondered hysterically if it would have been better or worse if it was an electric one with the slow wine as it lowered. The jerky motion was ruining the dramatic tension. “Need a lift?” Scott asked, staring at her with that same puppy dog look that failed constantly to get him the girl. 

Crazy-Eyes didn’t lower the shotgun. 

Wouldn’t that be the ultimate irony? Survive the end of the world. Survive months on what was left, only to die at the hands of some crazy bitch? Stiles licked cheese powder off his lips thinking that would be at least one less indignity. 

Her lips twitched slightly upwards. 

“Which way are you headed?” 

“West. Nowhere in particular.”

They looked at each other for a long moment like something out of a Western. Stiles kept quiet and still. 

“Can you wait a moment? I have some provisions.” 

She walked backwards slowly, gun still trained on Scott’s face. 

“Well she seems nice.” Stiles swallowed, suddenly the Cheetos didn’t taste so good. 

\--

Jackson was tense. He couldn’t explain it, just a crawling down his arms that said something was off muscles tense and at-ready. Lydia was crouched in the corner of the ruined room looking through the debris for something under the counter. She wouldn’t tell him what, it wasn’t like he tried very hard to figure out what. 

Jackson didn’t remember her being so bossy. Then again, the girl he had been dating would have never been able to beat someone to death with a baseball bat, spraying herself with blood and flinging bits of gore and flakes of bone across the room. This Lydia did that on a weekly basis. They both still flicked their hair back the same way and the motion was somewhere between soothing and irritating. 

Something shuffled outside the door and Jackson went still. 

“Got company,” he said, tension singing in his shoulders. 

“Fine.” Lydia came out from under the desk and picked up her crow-bar, gripped it in her slim hand as she stepped carefully around the over-turned chairs. “Out of the way Jacks.” 

These days it was better to let her have what she wanted. It shambled around the corner and like a baseball star she swung hard. The whole head crumpled in on itself like a ripe melon. Jackson didn’t look away, just stared as she worked out whatever it was today on its skull until there wasn’t much left let alone a recognizable face. 

“Feel better?” Jackson said, hip cocked. Lydia flicked her long hair back (it used to be so soft--lank and dirty now, but still red like a target) and shrugged. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she replied tartly.

They could have picked somewhere better to stay, but the school had seemed like a good idea at the time. Lydia didn’t say anything and Jackson lacked the motivation to move, and so here they stayed, sentinels in a hall that no longer cared for its own. There had been a bay of windows that let the afternoon sun stream into the cafeteria, but that had shattered and now it was a gaping wound in the defence of the school. Jackson found himself wandering towards it and just to feel the sun on his skin when Lydia would leave to go scouting or sorting or the any number of things she did. 

“I’m hungry,” he said, spinning on his heels. He didn’t know why she kept coming back here, the vinegar smell of acids and graveyard of broken desks and flasks. Jackson hadn’t even liked being here when it was still a chemistry classroom. 

Jackson ate on the roof. There was one door and it was sturdy. It was paved with small rocks, digging into his butt as he ate tuna with his fingers the juice dripping on the rocks at his feet. Lydia was on the other side throwing rocks at the street. He’d long gotten used to it looking like a ghost town. No matter how many times in the past he’d rolled down that street to turn into the parking lot, cursing under his breath because students kept darting in front of his car. A school bus was still parked out front covered with dirty handprints like a crime scene. These days nothing moved out there at anything faster that slow walk.

It was quiet. They had run out of things to talk about a long time ago. 

“Look.” Lydia shattered the calm. At the end of the street there was a car moving slowly and weaving around the debris that scattered the street. 

Their corner of California had been pretty empty, just them and the biters for what felt like forever. 

“Let’s ignore them,” Jackson said, sitting down to watch the car’s crawling progress. Lydia didn’t say anything, but her face was set like she’d already made some sort of decision. Jackson wasn’t surprised; Lydia had been acting weird for awhile now. 

“It never works out well in the movies does it?” Lydia said absently without taking her eyes off the car. 

“In the movies they seem to have showers,” Jackson pointed out because he was filthy. They didn’t make movies anymore. And they all said TV was going to make a generation of zombies. Well maybe they were partially right. 

“TV doesn’t make zombies. Cannibalism makes zombies,” Lydia responded; Jackson hadn’t even realized that he’d said anything out loud. 

The car got in front of the school before it rolled to a gentle stop. Two men got out bickering. One kicked the wheel hard--he wore bright red and Jackson narrowed his eyes, trying to listen to their hushed conversation. The third person stayed in the car. 

The one in the dark blue got behind the car and started to push. The small hatch-back was loaded with stuff. 

Something hit the road with a shower of small pings. The one in the red whirled on his feet, bringing a gun up while the one in the blue tripped and slid down the side of the car, scrambling to his feet. Both of them paused when there was nothing there. 

Lydia took another handful of rocks and threw it at them. 

Jackson had been on the Lacrosse team; he pelted one rock and it dinged off the roof. 

The two men finally looked up. Jackson was sitting right on the edge, while Lydia stood to his left with her rocks. “What the fuck did you do that for?” Jackson asked quietly, like he hadn’t joined her. 

“It’s something different,” Lydia responded. Louder: “What brings you to Beacon Hills?” 

“Tourism,” The blue said. Jackson snorted to himself. He could _hear_ the arch expression Lydia was making without having to actually look at her. 

“They didn’t look like psychopaths,” Lydia said as they moved the block they’d set up covering the fire escape to the parking lot. The lot itself had two cars in it; it was the forest beyond the lot that was the danger. Lydia went first, clattering down the metal staircase--she’d never been particularly athletic before this, yoga and jogging, but what she was was adaptable. Jackson followed her down, body singing with that anxiety that always seemed to precede an attack. 

Lydia hit the ground. Nothing moved except for the two men, joined by a slim figure in a brown jacket. They were still too far away to really see properly. The one in the red sweater had dark hair, the blue one had his hood up and the third was a girl, but that was all he could tell. 

“What did you expect? 28 Days Later?” Red was saying to Blue. 

“What? No. The undead were fast in 28 Days Later,” Blue said back, sounding affronted. “It’s nothing like that.” 

“That’s not what I meant.” 

“We’ve got company,” The woman said. She held a crossbow easily in her hands and pointed it at Jackson’s chest. 

Jackson went completely still, fingers tightening on the baseball bat. 

“Just curious.” How Lydia could maintain a light tone he didn’t know; she popped the words carelessly like bubblegum and smiled. “We haven’t seen ... anyone else actually. It’s easy to think you’re alone.” 

“End of the world and only beautiful people survive? That’s not fair man,” Blue said. 

Jackson scowled at them--the anxiety was making his stomach churn; the small hairs on his arms were lifting. 

Red was kneeling by the fuel cap of one car with a hose and a jerry can. On closer inspection his sneakers were cheap and the hood was ratty. “You look like you have practice with that.” 

Red glared at him over his shoulder, lips pressed tight. Blue got in his face suddenly, springing like an affronted Pomeranian. “What do you mean by that?” He was a lot younger than Jackson first thought, cheeks still rounded with baby fat. He was too close and Jackson just snapped, he lashed out; it wasn’t even a proper punch but Blue was on his ass and Jackson had the sharp end of an arrow shoved in his face. Girl was standing between him and Blue with a scowl on her face. 

For a long moment no one moved. 

Jackson’s skin crawled. He looked left on instinct just in time to realize that biters were stumbling out of the forest on all sides, drawn to them. Jackson had never seen so many at once; they were stumbling forward. His blood ran cold fingers gone suddenly numb and vision snowing for one teetering moment. 

“Time to go.” Lydia hissed, grabbing his hand and tugging him back towards the school.

“Don’t leave us,” Blue said, scrambling to his feet. His palms were scraped and he had a small cut on his mouth where Jackson had managed to clip him. The blood made Jackson feel sick, so he didn’t look back. 

“Then move,” Lydia snarled at them. She was running. 

The crossbow made a soft sound as Girl shot it. Jackson didn’t look back to see if she hit anything; the way she held it, she probably had. He barely managed to contain a sound when he opened the door and one of them was just inside. He jerked backwards suddenly, slamming into Lydia. There was a confusing moment where they were all limbs and bodies and her hair and Lydia was cursing expansively and viciously at him. The shot rang out too-loud and Red was shoving past them, leaping over the body to get further into the building. 

“It’s not secure?” Girl was said to them, eyes wide and a more than a little wild. 

Lydia pursed her lips, shoving Jackson away from her. 

“There’s holes all over and there are only two of us.” 

“I wonder why.” Blue bitched. Girl and Red ignored him. 

They had to get to the safe place. It only fit the two of them, but what did Jackson care about strangers? Lydia had other plans. 

“The second floor is safer, we can barricade ourselves there until they go away.” 

They had supplies stored in the old Biology rooms. Lydia found it deeply amusing to keep the tins of food with all the jars of samples floating in formaldehyde. Beacon Hills wasn’t big enough to have been hit hard by the riots (so many people taking to the streets like an all-you-can-eat buffet) so there had been enough for the two of them to stock-pile. They kept stock-piling without talking about the future, which at least wasn’t really a change from when they had been young and dating and still unsure about the future. 

The door was still closed and secure when Lydia ran into it, flinging it open; Jackson went after her, Girl, Blue and Red next. The door closed and Jackson busied himself with the bracing Lydia had rigged up from various litter around the school. 

They all stood there, listening--Red even had his head cocked like a dog. Jackson bit down on an inappropriate laugh. 

\--

Scott listened. It was probably his imagination that was producing the sounds he swore he could hear. The shuffle-drag of the way that zombies walked, like hip joints that didn’t work anymore. Behind him Stiles was pressed against his elbow. 

Stiles had advocated and once even stolen the map from the car to keep Scott from finding other people. It was like he was more scared of them than of the biters. Scott just wanted to find his Mom. She’d been moved to a different camp than him in the confusion, but once the shelters dissolved not _everyone_ died. Look at him and Stiles. 

Allison stood absolutely still; some of the fear that had bled from her eyes these past few days came flooding back. Scott tried asking about her past but she’d clammed up and looking like she was going to cry. Or shoot him. Or even cry while shooting him. Her aim was uncanny. 

“All our stuff is in the car,” Stiles said, bouncing on his toes. He’d not lost hold of the baseball bat he took everywhere with him and had even named Betty. 

The girl was ignoring them, watching the door intently. She looked almost like she wanted them to come through leaning forwards and shoulders set back ready to attack. The boy was standing there, arms folded across his chest like it could hide the way they were shaking. Scott had to wonder how long it had been just the two of them here and what they had been through. 

“We’ve got food,” The girl said, blinking and then focusing on them after the silence had stretched on long enough to be really uncomfortable. Stiles had been right about beautiful people now that Scott could see her clearer, she was stunning with red hair and pale skin. The boy was striking blond hair and sharp cheek bones. Neither of them were as pretty as Allison with her dark hair and long eyelashes )he’d had a long drive and a rear-view mirror to contemplate it) but they did look like they had walked out of some sort of catalogue. “We’ll be fine. My name is Lydia.” 

“Stiles,” Stiles said, giving her that look he always gave pretty girls. One that said ‘my tongue is numb and I’m about to say something really stupid.’ 

“What kind of name is that?” The boy said, his voice shook but Stiles didn’t seem to notice, head snapping up in a classic ‘oh no you didn’t’. (Scott has had years and year and year to catalogue every one of Stiles’ faces.) He was good at watching people. 

“It’s mine, you got something to say about that?” 

Jackson looked up and down before he shrugged. “He doesn’t,” Lydia snapped. The boy gave her a blank look. This was clearly an argument they had had before. 

“Allison,” Allison cut in. 

“Scott,” he added. Shaking hands went out when showers and running water did. 

The boy paused, lips pursed as all eyes turned on him. “Jackson,” he said at long last. 

“There. Like civilized people.” Lydia clicked her tongue. 

\--

Stiles paced a quick circuit. 

Despite the fact that he spent most of his days in a car, he felt oddly claustrophobic. Jackson was sitting on the floor near him staring at the window. He was looking at his hands. 

Turns out the end of the world was a joke. He’d thought it could be a lot of things, idle musings when it had been nice outside but they were stuck in class listening to the drone of a teacher and fantasizing about adventure. This was going much too far. Lydia and Jackson were under the grime like a pair of models. How was that even real? You couldn’t make this shit up. 

He walked quickly across the corner he’d staked as his again. Scott watched him, eyes narrowed in the gloom. Stiles was jealous of the way that Scott just closed his eyes and drifted off. He was full of nervous energy and overly tired. He hadn’t sleep well. 

“Would you stop that?” Jackson had big blue eyes. Stiles could see how he’d bagged a girl like Lydia. In fact, any other day he might have stopped for a second look. Stiles glared at him and very carefully kept his steps measured. 

Had to wonder if Jackson was going to hit him again. Cave man arguments. Alpha male bull-shit that came with all gender stereotypes. 

“It’s giving me a headache.” Jackson snarled at him. Jackson’s fingers were tangled together so hard that his knuckles were turning white. Stiles weighed stopping; it would be the smart thing to do. There was lean strength coiled in Jackson’s arms and he was all for not rocking the boat because despite what he’d said things could really get 28 Days Later in here. 

Mostly he wanted to tell him to go fuck himself. Stiles flipped him off. 

Jackson snarled something wordless at him but didn’t move, just curled his legs tighter against himself. Without really thinking about it, Stiles looked at Lydia and found her watching him; what her expression said he couldn’t tell. It wasn’t anger or irritation or anything on the normal spectrum of expressions he normally associated with girls. 

Allison said something and Lydia looked back at her, smiling and shrugging. Stiles wouldn’t have pegged Allison for the type to do girl talk. Before he saw it, he wouldn’t have pegged Allison for anything but skinning corpses on the side of the road to fill her sadistic desires. She looked actually kind of happy. 

Stiles paced another quick circuit. 

Jackson glared at him where he was resting his arms on his knees. 

\--

Scott swung the bat. Three strikes and it was down. 

If only he’d been on the baseball team and not a benchwarmer for the Lacrosse team. Still, the collarbone had snapped with the first hit, the skull collapsing with the second, and the third was because he and Stiles used to love watching Zombieland and joking about how bad ass they would be at the end of the world. 

There was a wet cracking sound, Allison breaking a biter’s neck as she stepped on its skull to pull out the bolt she’d imbedded there from all the way down the hall. 

“You’re really... good at that?” Scott said. Wow, way to be not smooth at all. Allison arched an eyebrow at him and Scott gave her a little smile. “The bow-thing I mean,” Scott added, because apparently pretty girls still made him loose his shit. 

Jackson snorted. He was behind the two of them holding a crowbar that had bits of person caught between the teeth. It had seen some action even if Jackson was content to hang near the back watching their six. 

“It was a hobby before all of this.” She looked sad about it but Scott had seen her take down a zombie like a sharp shooter from a Western film. They were making slow progress across the second floor.

\--

Lydia watched them, four of them including herself judging them and keeping track of the things they said, the ways they moved. As a group they had decided to take branching out from the Biology room slowly. After all there was plenty of food in here and there were a lot of them out there, more and more biters every day it seemed. The food would last longer if one of them didn’t. She didn’t think it was going to be a problem. 

Stiles stood by the window watching outside. This window showed the front street where their car was still sitting waiting for them as if mocking the back filled with food and weapons. 

“So.” Stiles interrupted her thoughts and Lydia clicked her heel against the floor. “You and Jackson? You’re together?” 

“No. Yes. Not anymore. Why, you interested?” She fluttered her eyes at him without intent. She knew his kind like she knew how to breathe. 

“What? Me? No. Just curious. You two seem like.” He paused, and she was genuinely curious to see what he would say next but just pursed her lips to smooth her lip-balm, pretending like she could care less. Some habits died hard. “You’ve been here together for a long time now.” 

“Everyone else is gone,” Lydia said. “Left or died.” 

“Everyone?” Stiles was staring at her. 

“It’s not like we’ve looked. We just sort of stayed here.” Lydia was beginning to think that she would be stuck there with Jackson as long as he held out. She had been almost looking forward to his breaking point; just so something would change. 

Lydia considered the idea that she was the crazy one but dismissed the idea. 

“Why?” 

She blinked at him startled. “I don’t know.” 

Somewhere outside a shot rang out and they both stiffened, looking towards it. The agreement was only to use the gun if it were an emergency. Maybe Lydia shouldn’t have let Jackson go with them. This wasn’t the change she wanted, Jackson turning into one of them after everything they had been through. 

Lydia didn’t think about, just stood up, reached for the gun she’d stolen from her father and slid it into the holster that fit around her thigh-- which for the record looked better in films. 

“Stay here,” she said reaching for—nothing; they only had the crowbar and the baseball bat they’d given Scott. “Pass that.” She snapped her fingers and pointed to his bat. Stiles gave her an affronted look. “I don’t have time to argue with you, give it to me.” Lydia snarled. 

She snatched it out of his fingers and was at the door as fast as her legs could carry her. 

“Wait.” 

“No,” She snapped back, slipping out the door and letting it close behind her. Stiles had better fucking well keep it secure while she was gone. The room was in the corner for vantage point reasons. There was a clatter down the left hall. Lydia raised the bat and edged towards it. One of them shuffled out from down the hall, moving towards her. 

They move like nothing would stop them. Single minded in purpose. “Come on,” Lydia said under her breath. 

“Back up.” She recognized Allison’s voice, and well okay. Lydia flattened herself against the wall and Allison was amazing, bow up and firing in one fluid movement. The biter fell with the shaft sticking out of its face. “More coming the other way.” Allison called.

“Sure.” Lydia replied for a lack of anything better to say.

It was a relatively small pack, five of them; Lydia could pick them off if they were alone, but they ran from the bigger numbers. Jackson and Scott fled down the hall behind Allison. The door opened before Lydia could slam on it and she spilled-fell through, Scott coming through much more gracefully and Jackson after him, looking pale and drawn again. 

Allison fired one more time before stepping through the door. Since Lydia was already there, she re-attached the brace. 

The door shuddered as it was hit from the outside. Muffled moans filtered under the door and through the cracks; hunger calling for them. It wasn’t really a close call, but Lydia was singing with unused adrenaline. “What happened?” She was looking at Jackson but she didn’t expect him to answer. 

“Got surprised.” Scott looked at his feet. “Didn’t notice two in a classroom. I don’t know what they were doing in there. 

“That’s normally where we sleep,” Jackson offered. Lydia hated the idea of them falling on the blankets they’d stored in there, of pressing their disgusting rotting faces all over her stuff. 

“Can I have my bat back now? I’ve named it and everything.” Stiles was looking at her a little pleadingly. It was pathetic. She tossed it back handle first to avoid the worst of the flaking blood on the end. 

“Sound is only going to draw more,” Allison said, frowning. “We should probably wait before trying that again.” 

\--

“Aren’t you going to ask me about Jackson?” Lydia said. Allison looked up from where she was making a house of cards. 

“No. Why?” Allison had been tenuous at best at the girl thing before all of this. She moved around a lot as a kid and never really got close enough to people for it to be an issue. Lydia just arched an eyebrow at her. “Did you want me to?” She asked after a pause where Lydia clearly expected her to do something.

“No. But you’ve been watching him and I thought you might want to know.” 

Allison shook her head. The cards fell again; she sorted them quickly, going back to try again. She’d been at this for the better part of the morning and could get it two layers high on most tries. It was the stretches of time between the sound of foot steps outside that seemed to wear the most. 

She was impatient but her father had taught her how to plan, and most of all to stick to the plan. Unlike her own fake calm she was convinced that Stiles was going to vibrate through his skin if something didn’t happen soon. She’d put an arrow through him before she let him endanger them all. 

“It’s not that.” Allison began the tower over again. She very carefully didn’t look over where Jackson and Scott were doing push-ups. One of them started it--she wasn’t sure which, but now they were just trying to out-do each other. Scott looked like he was having fun and Jackson looked overly focused. 

“Then what is it?” Lydia sounded almost offended. What, Allison wasn’t interested in her boyfriend so this was an issue? 

“He seems... tense.” That was a bit of an understatement. He’d been shaking the first time they ran. Then when they had been out with Scott, he’d flung himself away from the biter so hard he’d slammed into the opposite wall. Scott had been the closest but he’d held together admirably. 

“It’s the end of the world and we’re out of Xanax,” Lydia said, her smile brittle and sharp. She looked like she could be angry but like her face wouldn’t let her. It was a complicated expression but it smoothed into that superior little smile after a moment. Allison couldn’t imagine who she was trying to impress. “Cut him some slack.” 

Allison has an inkling that Lydia was what really kept them alive here, but didn’t know the words to explain it, so she just shrugged a little. 

“There isn’t a lot of slack to cut.” 

Lydia’s face did something complicated. She didn’t seem mad. “You’ve probably got a point. We used to date but everything different now.” Lydia shrugged. 

“It must be nice to have something familiar. I’m looking for my father.”

“The probability of finding him alive is next to nothing,” She said it so flatly, like it didn’t matter, as if she wasn’t saying something that Allison battled with every day. The anger welled hot and bright and sudden. 

“I know that,” Allison snarled. Lydia watched her like she was something interesting eyes almost fever-bright. 

“I’m sorry,” She said finally. She didn’t even bother to try and look contrite and Allison didn’t know if she wanted to hit her or cry. She’s been so careful for so long, alone for so long. Scott was too nice to say something like that and Stiles was too terrified of her to say anything meaningful. 

“No you’re not,” Allison said, her throat feeling tight and eyes burning. 

“Just keeping it real.” 

Lydia shifted over towards her, letting their thighs touch under the table. Allison hadn’t really thought about the fact that she’d been too busy trying to stay alive to miss the way her mother used to hug her. Lydia started building card towers while Allison cried quietly.

\--

Stiles was going to crawl out of his skin, scratch it all off and throw it out the window as a lure so he could just get out of this room. It was big enough for them to all have a corner and not really need to see or talk to the others, as well as being attached to a supply cupboard. 

He’d already gotten in his fight with Jackson that morning. Less of a fight and more of Jackson bitching at him before curling in his corner with a book he’d pulled out from one of the broken desks. Jackson hogged the space under the blackboard where the most sun fell during the day. 

“Is that a romance novel?” Stiles asked and Jackson’s mouth was pressed into a pout even as he looked up. 

“It was in the desk,” Jackson snapped defensively. The cover looked so tacky, something with a sunset and flowing locks. “What do you care ass-wipe?” 

“Just wondering how many _’heaving bosoms’_ there have been. One? Two?” 

“None of your fucking business,” Jackson snapped, looking cagey. Well that was too bad; Stiles was tired and fed up and Jackson was an easy target. Jackson bared his teeth in a not-smile and Stiles just smirked back. 

“Lighten up jock-strap,” Stiles replied. 

Jackson’s face did something painful. “Never made the first line did we? Jealous much?” 

“Scott was the star,” Stiles replied breezy it wasn’t like Jackson was going to know if it was a lie or not, refusing to rise to the bait. Still, the reminder cut him to the bone. That was the one thing he’d never been able to do for his father (well that and stop lying to him about sneaking out his window at night to paint the town Halo Red and Blue with Scott.) 

“Big surprise,” Jackson said back, words spit like bullets between his teeth. 

Feeling oddly like he’d lost that exchange, Stiles walked back over to where Scott was lying across one of the desks staring out into space. 

“You should probably leave him alone,” Scott mumbled. He looked sleepy and not nearly as bothered by their situation as he should be. Shit was real and Scott was firmly in la la land. 

“How does this not bother you?” Stiles hissed, aware that everyone could hear him if they wanted to--and resenting them for it.

“Why does it bother you so much anyways?” Scott sat up, long legs dangling off the end of the table and giving him his full attention. 

Because people were unforgivable. Because it would only take one of them to kill them all. Because Scott made ridiculous doe eyes at Allison and jealousy was seriously _all the way down there on the list of pressing issues_ but it was still eating away at him all the same. 

“It’s nothing,” Stiles finally said. Scott wouldn’t understand it anyways; he had room in his heart for more than one. 

\--

When Scott woke up it was to Lydia and Jackson having a vicious fight by the food cupboard. It must have started out silently because they were right in the middle of it without having woken him up. Stiles was staring at them with a frown on his face. 

“No, what else is out there anyways?” 

“We can’t just stay here.” Lydia snarled. She looked wild angry, like Scott had never seen her, not even when they’d faced the biters--then she’d been focused and determined. This was rage.

“ _Why not._ ” Jackson made it less of a question and more of a statement, each word its own little sentence. 

“Because there’s nothing in here.” 

“There’s nothing out there either. Everyone we know is dead. Everyone,” Jackson said before she could continue. 

“Because if we stay in here I’m going to kill you,” Lydia finally said, deadly serious. 

“You think I don’t know that?” Jackson said, arms crossed over his chest. “It’s still better than being out there. I’m not going out there even if I have to be in here with you.”

Lydia snarled something wordless and stalked to the other side of the room, sitting down against the wall and inspecting her nails. Scott was tripped up a little by that; where did she even get the nail polish? Jackson kicked the desks and they all clattered together loudly. A biter on the other side of the door moaned and beat itself senselessly against the barricade. Jackson flinched violently. 

“What’s up with them?” Scott asked Stiles. He looked like he’d heard the rest of it. 

“Just what it looks like. Lydia wants to leave here.” They could take her with them; if they took both of them then they were going to need to find a new way to travel. Scott had just sort of assumed they would keep moving, once they could get out of here and get gas for the car. It was just a patience game. 

“Jackson doesn’t want to?” Scott asked. 

“Obviously.” Stiles bit back and Scott put up his hand defensively ‘sorry man’. 

“You want to?” Jackson asked, just loud enough for Scott to hear him. Jackson didn’t smile back when Scott smiled at him. 

“Yeah, I’ve got to find my mom.” 

“She’s probably dead,” Jackson said sharply. 

“Maybe she’s not,” Scott said back. Mom had been at a nursing conference that she’d bitched out endlessly when the power grid went down. Scott had stayed as long as he could when suddenly Stiles was there wild eyed ‘we need to go.’ They’d barely made it out of the city. “I’m not going to give up until I know one way or another.” 

Jackson stared at him and Scott felt bad for the naked look of pain that he couldn’t hide fast enough. 

“What about your parents?” Stiles asked. Scott winced, he couldn’t even tell if Stiles was doing this on purpose this time. 

“He stabbed them,” Lydia said waspishly from across the room. 

Jackson went very pale and still. “They weren’t my parents.” 

After that everyone was very quiet. Jackson proceeded to ignore them while Lydia sulked in the opposite corner. 

\--

“I’m sorry,” Stiles said and Jackson looked up through his lashes at him and snorted. 

“Fuck off,” he replied, concise and to the point; even an idiot like Stiles could figure that one out. He didn’t have the same puppy-face that his friend did but he did give it his best shot. Looking wounded like he hadn’t been there irritating Jackson for the last how-ever many days. (They blurred together, the edges getting indistinct and he should be worried about that but mostly he was tired.) 

“I’m trying to apologize,” Stiles snapped, his face all scrunched up. 

The world ended and the only people to find him were losers. Jackson let his head thump against the wall. Lydia was sitting against the opposite wall pretending like he didn’t exist. At least they hadn’t broken anything this time. Their fights were always so vicious. 

“For what?” he snapped. 

“You know. That thing with your parents,” Stiles said each word like pulling teeth. Jackson’s fingers clenched in on themselves, too-long nails digging into his palms. It took conscious effort to relax his fingers. He couldn’t have said what his face looked like, but it must have been a bit much because Stiles was giving him a weird look. 

“They weren’t my parents,” Jackson said again firmly. They had been freshly changed, pallid like death but still achingly the same. Jake had been a big man, heavy when he fell on Jackson moaning, fingers scrabbling hungrily across his back as he drooled. 

Jackson had panicked, heart beating in his throat, on the verge of crying or throwing up. Ironically it had been Margaret that knocked the knife set to the ground in her eagerness to get at her child’s flesh, teeth gnashing and covered in blood. 

“I’m adopted. Was. Was adopted.” The words tasted bitter in his mouth. So many old wounds almost indistinguishable from the new ones. 

He felt too-warm; instead he just clenched his jaw against it and met Stiles’ eyes with the same determination he used to use to get through long practices. 

“Still they raised you.” 

“Not. My. Parents.” 

“Okay.” Stiles held his hands up and Jackson realized that his shoulders were held so tight they ached. “Okay I get it.” Stiles backed down and as soon as he wasn’t talking anymore Jackson relaxed a little more. 

When Stiles got tired of being ignored and went back to Scott’s side where he sat like a puppy, Jackson looked up, feeling eyes on him. Lydia was watching him, eyes wide against her pale face. They were staring at each other and for the life of him he had no idea what that expression meant. Fuck. He never really knew Lydia at all before this anyways. When they had been dating she’d been coy, fluttering eyelashes that hid the sharpness of her tone. 

It was only now that Jackson realized he was a complete idiot, but he couldn’t seem to hold it against her; in some twisted way she did it for him. Jackson was the first to look away. He _wasn’t_ going outside. 

\--

“Maybe we could throw things out the window?” Scott asked. 

The more they looked out the window, the more and more of them there seemed to be, coming out of the trees in waves like some sort of sick pilgrimage. Allison frowned at him. “And gather the attention of the ones already outside? We still need to put gas in the car. There is no quick getaway.”

Stiles made a face. He didn’t like being stuck in here, that much was obvious. Allison had taken to watching him, waiting for the break. It had come down to which would it be first, Jackson or Stiles?

“I could set fire to the field,” Lydia offered. 

“We’d run into them coming the other way.” The logistics spilled through her mind. Variables. “Wait. How would you do that?” 

“The chem lab is down the hall. Mr. Harris isn’t around anymore to get mad if I steal things. Self igniting mixtures and have Jackson throw them off the roof.” Allison raised both eyebrows in surprise. Well that was useful to know; despite herself she was impressed. Still, Lydia had clearly put a lot of thought into this already. “When we leave. I want to burn this place down. The whole town if I could.” 

Without really thinking about it, Allison reached for Lydia’s hand (it was right there, Lydia pressed against her side) and let Lydia squeeze her hand too tight. 

“Don’t tell me you wouldn’t feel better if this whole place burned?” Lydia asked Jackson, who was hovering around the edges of their group glaring like a wet cat. Lydia had been so sure that everyone she knew was dead; Allison never stopped to ask why. Maybe she should have, and maybe Lydia would have slapped her. All the signs were pointing to Lydia being slightly unhinged and to Allison not minding that at all. Still she glanced carefully around, using her hair as a veil, but Scott was focused on their plans and Stiles looked like he wasn’t even mentally present. 

“Won’t change anything. This place was a hovel before all the people died,” Jackson said, surly. He’d been in a snit since the fight with Lydia. They seemed to have a standing agreement to disagree about that if the looks they exchanged meant anything. 

“Okay,” Scott said, frowning. “But this doesn’t help us does it? I mean we’re still stuck in here.” 

“It might even be better. I don’t know why there are so many of them.” 

“What if it doesn’t go away?” Stiles asked finally, snapping into the conversation suddenly. Lydia’s nails dug into her hand painfully for a flash before she let go, giving Allison an apologetic look. 

“Then we deal with it,” Scott replied, voice soft and firm. He was proving to be more than the airhead that Allison initially pegged him as. The first day she’d been so tense, unsure if she could trust these two boys even if one of them looked at her with huge dark eyes and so many good intentions. That first night Stiles’ paranoia had been almost soothing. “My mom might still be out there.” 

Allison smiled a little. 

Later Allison was sitting near the food room mentally calculating how long they could last in here. There were some tinned peaches, cream corn but not a lot of protein. Lydia and Jackson hadn’t accounted for the three extra stomachs when they’d built their pantry. 

There was a shift of movement. Lydia pressing into her personal space, brazen and unrepentant in the way that rich, pretty people all over the world were. Used to be. 

“Hey,” Allison said, feeling a little awkward over the hand holding earlier. 

Lydia went in for the kill with all the direct grace of a predator. “Take me with you.” 

“What?” Allison choked on it. Lydia looked bright eyed and almost pleading. 

“When you go, let me go with you.” 

“I’m not. I mean. Scott’s going to be travelling too.” Allison’s words feel like a car crash, each piling up. She’s been alone since those first few horrifying weeks. Of course she still wasn’t at all sure how to deal with Lydia as a human being, let alone the way she made Allison’s heart skip. 

“I want to go with _you_.”

“What about Jackson?” They all keep making plans about what was going to happen next like his decision to stay was the crazy one. Allison could see where he was coming from even if she didn’t agree. 

“He won’t last a week on his own. He’s going to have to grow a pair or die.” 

Allison couldn’t tell if Lydia was lying or not. 

\--

It had been six long days. 

Stiles could count them off on his fingers. Pure exhaustion meant he’d at least slept a little now. Of course it was cold at night and Scott was trying to gallantly offer himself as a pillow for Allison while Lydia and Jackson had some not-relationship thing going on. 

Stiles slept with his back pressed against the wall and chin resting on his knees when he just couldn’t keep his eyes open any longer. 

Finally, finally he couldn’t take it anymore. Even Scott was beginning to look like he had ants in his pants and Scott was the model of sanity as far as their little Scooby-gang was concerned. Stiles never would have thought he’d see the day. 

The plan was simple. There were food stashes across the school because apparently Lydia was some sort of genius and had been micromanaging her and Jackson’s life for months now. Stiles was beginning to understand their push-pull relationship and what did that say about him that it took the end of humanity to teach him to be sensitive? There was a lesson in there somewhere: too many video games rotted your brain or artificial sweeteners caused ADHD something like that. Social commentary about the moral and physical decay of society. 

Speaking of which. 

“Dude. Calm down,” Stiles hissed. Jackson’s nerves were giving him nerves. He didn’t know what the guy’s problem was, just that you could see the tension tearing him apart. 

“Shut the fuck up and focus,” Jackson hissed at him. 

_Jesus fuck_. Stiles could admit they’d gotten off to a rough start, but that was no reason to be such a dick about it. Stiles pulled a face at the back of his head and they picked their way through the blood-stained walls of the school.

Jackson knew where he was going, so Stiles continued behind him. Any other occasion and the view might not have been so bad. Jackson was attractive in a ‘just walked out of an Ambercrombie’ sort of way. It was a little disconcerting to see him scuffed up like people on TV weren’t. 

“The basement is secure,” Jackson said, leading them down the stairs. The stairs were the worst because their steps echoed so loudly; Stiles was sure they were attracting the attention of everything undead in the whole state-wide area. 

“Cool. Creepy abandoned basement. It’s not like the day could get any worse.” 

Jackson snorted but didn’t reply. At one point Jackson froze, holding himself so still it looked painful. Stiles wasn’t even breathing. Whatever it was passed and Jackson peeked around the corner, moving quickly to a door marked ‘Janitor’. He pressed a key to the lock and it opened with a soft creak. 

When the door closed it was almost black and Stiles’ heart was beating way too fast his body flooded with adrenaline so hard his fingers hurt where he was gripping his bat. He couldn’t see Jackson, but he could sort of sense him, warmth and movement just in front of him. The reptilian part of his brain keeping a bead on him while the silly primate flailed in the darkness. 

They wandered in the dark and at one point Stiles panicked because he couldn’t find Jackson. He didn’t know how Jackson seemed to know, only that long fingers wrapped around his wrist and tugged him to the left, his hip clipping a desk hard enough to sting. “Isn’t there a light down here?” 

“Saving batteries. I know the way.” 

They passed through another door; down on the other end there was light filtering in through a broken window. Stiles squinted at it for a moment before there were hands suddenly reaching out of the gloom and a _famished_ moan ripping through the silence. 

It was quick thinking that had him reaching for Jackson’s hand even as Jackson jerked away, making a high and tight sound of panicked distress. 

The first moan set off a wave and holy shit not as secure as they thought. Jackson bolted, making to leave Stiles there alone in the dark, but Stiles had his blunt nails dug into Jackson’s wrist so he was tugged around, stumbling over his feet for a moment.

They tangled. Jackson pulling too hard and Stiles pulling back instead of forward, tripping over each other as they stumbled back into the darkness, hunger reaching out for them. The only warning he got when they hit the stairs was the way Jackson’s arm jerked up a little and it was an honest miracle that Stiles managed to get the timing right, not catch his toes on the stairs because they were _flying_ up them. He had little concept of how fast Jackson really was until he was trying to keep up. They hit the hallway running. 

Should lock the door, but Jackson tripped over a body kneeling by the floor, bloated and stuffed full of meat still reaching for him feebly. Lydia and Jackson must have left a body somewhere in the recent confusion. Stiles wasted precious seconds being shocked; he just has enough time to grab Jackson and pull him out of the way of its grasping hands, bat clattering to the floor with the grip he had on Jackson’s shoulders.

Something clattered loudly behind him, tumbling tangled in an overturned desk and making a frustrated low groan that resonated in Stiles’ stomach. 

He couldn’t have told you who was shrieking—him or Jackson; to be honest it was probably both of them. 

Blind panic turned out not to be so blind when Jackson dodged a biter and darted into a small class room. Stiles hesitated only a moment, he didn’t want to get cornered. Jackson was if anything more scared than he was, he followed, making a split second decision to put all his eggs in one basket-case. There was a small closet at the back of the room that Jackson was shoving himself inside. There wasn’t time to look at all the blankets piled in there like a nest, just Stiles pushing his way in after him. 

Jackson wiggled, ignorant of the fact that they were pressed from thigh to chest together, pulling the door shut and latching it. 

Jackson was breathing high and fast like he was hyperventilating, still making a soft whining sound. Stiles could feel the way it shook out of Jackson’s chest like it was trying to rattle him apart at the molecular level. He couldn’t not feel it with the way they were pressed together. There was no bro-code for this--there were about ten different sarcastic remarks waiting on the tip of his tongue and it was only the inkling that any one of them could shatter Jackson that kept them behind his teeth. 

“Breath with me,” Stiles said quietly. 

Jackson snarled something wordless and they devolved into silence again. Despite what he’s said Jackson did breathe with him even as outside the undead snapped their teeth and worked their jaws with desperate hunger, fingers scrabbling uselessly at the door to their sanctuary. 

Stiles felt ten feet tall and all-powerful when Jackson finally stopped shaking, instead limp against his chest and breathing in the same easy rhythm as Stiles was. 

“When my mom died I had a lot of trouble adjusting, I used to get panic-attacks.” He said slowly to explain himself.

“Whatever.” Jackson bit at him like Stiles hadn’t been petting his arm a moment ago; his tone was dismissive. 

He didn’t feel the snap, not like whiplash or any actual snap, only realized what happened after his hand hurt and Jackson’s grunted, the back of his head slamming off the wall with a solid sound. Stiles did feel a little guilty, but the sound Jackson made was more indignant than pained, so Stiles settled for jabbing his elbows into Jackson’s ribs as he shoved them around the narrow space. 

They were pressed so tight that he couldn’t help but feel it _intimately_ when Jackson began to react. Stiles hissed, dug his elbow deeper into Jackson’s side only to have him make a soft sound, all the breath punched out of him. 

“What seriously?” Stiles bit out. 

“Shut up. Just shut up.” Stiles could feel Jackson’s blush even if he couldn’t see it; there was next to no light in here. 

“You know, suddenly your relationship with Lydia makes a lot more sense and _no_ ,” Stiles said with a little more venom than he intended. What could he say, he was a little sore about the way that Jackson would have left him to die down there in the basement. 

“Seriously shut up,” Jackson snarled at him, so close that Stiles could feel the wash of his breath. 

“I don’t think so. I’ve had it up to here with your attitude,” Stiles said, because seriously if there were five people left on the planet you’d think that you’d want to _get along with them_. 

It wasn’t much of a fight, so much as Jackson trying to hurt him, and Stiles being better at fighting like a bitch. He probably kissed Jackson to get him to stop spitting curses because the biters were beating themselves against the door in a mad frenzy with all the sound they were making in here. Stiles’ stomach felt too tight, twisting even as he pushed his tongue into Jackson’s mouth to lick at his teeth. 

It got sloppy fast, Stiles shoving Jackson against the wall and pulling kiss after kiss from his mouth until his lips felt bruise-hot and he was hard too. Whole new meaning to in the closet; seriously if there wasn’t a zombie apocalypse on he would be appalled by how cliché it was. 

“You kiss like an ape,” Jackson hissed against his mouth and Stiles wished he had enough to see him. He had a vivid imagination and the picture that Jackson’s breathless tone made was so painfully bright that he could almost see it. Wanted to know if the reality lived up to the fantasy. 

Jackson made a soft, almost wounded sound when Stiles gripped his hair the best he could and forced his head to tilt, resulting in the perfect angle to seal their mouths together. There was a small still-rational part of his brain that was screaming at him, warning klaxons going off: red alert you’re dick is pressing into Jackson’s hip. Threat level five, set phasers to kill. 

Mostly, he was really horny and Jackson may have been a dick, but he was also really hot, hot in the way that was way out of Stiles’ league. That and he made this sharp desperate sound when Stiles got ahead of himself and bit his lip by accident. 

Keeping with the metaphor, they were going at warp speed now and there wasn’t anything Stiles could do but crash almost violently against Jackson, thrilling in the way that Jackson couldn’t seem to help himself, whining low in his throat as Stiles used his weight to shove him around. He couldn’t stop kissing Jackson, sloppy and too hard because if he did inevitably Jackson would say something douche-baggy and ruin it. 

So he licked into Jackson’s mouth, biting at his lips almost viciously while Jackson whined, shoving his hands between them, knuckles digging into Stiles’ tummy as he clawed at his jeans. Jackson was mouthing words against the kiss and Stiles was determinedly ignoring him. The too-dry slide of Jackson’s hand was almost too much for a moment and Stiles let their foreheads rest, just breathing sharply through his teeth. 

“That all you got?” Jackson said low and gravelly. 

“Seriously?” Stiles bit out. He grabbed for Jackson’s hips, reaching under the hem of his shirt and scratching at his stomach. Jackson whined, snapping his hips forward and pushing his own palm against Stiles’ cock. He shoved Jackson’s shirt up to his arm pits. He could feel the burning warmth of Jackson’s skin against his own chest even through his sweater. He rubbed off against Jackson’s hip while Jackson dealt with his own pants. Curious, Stiles pinched one of his nipples, tugging on it sharply. Jackson sobbed, arching up against him hard. “Christ,” Stiles swore. 

There wasn’t a word strong enough for the sensation of Jackson finally getting all their pants out of the way, shoved down around his thighs and Jackson’s cock sliding against his own, blood hot and heavy. Shoving his hands down into the narrow space between them; this at least he knew he was good at, he’d gotten enough practice. He rubbed his fingers across the head of Jackson’s cock, feeling it swell and jerk as he rubbed at the slit. Jackson pulled away from him as far as he could get away but there was nowhere to go, just groan and thump his head back against the wall. 

Stiles tipped his head forward again, seeking Jackson’s mouth but finding his chin instead. He followed the line down to his neck where he let his teeth scrape there. Jackson writhed against him, he was leaking now and Stiles felt like a legend. He was a fucking sex god. 

“Like that?” Stiles said, pressing the words against the warmth of Jackson’s neck. 

“Shut up.” Jackson moaned lowly. Stiles felt each letter as a vibration against his mouth. 

It wasn’t wet enough, the dry slide of his hands over his dick, but Jackson’s fingers were locked around his so he couldn’t stop to lick his fingers, just ride it out. 

Stiles sealed his mouth over Jackson’s thrumming pulse, feeling it against his bruised lips, so very alive and human. He bit at it, wanting to catch it and hold it with his teeth if he must-- Jackson swore at him. Stiles drove him viciously, working out stress and a week of sleepless night and impotent frustration, scratching it into Jackson’s ribs while Jackson whined and pushed, jerking them both too fast. 

Jackson came first and it was petty, but Stiles was going to take his victories where he could get them. He only wished he could see Jackson’s face; was it as wrecked as his voice sounded? Did his mouth go all lax as he came all over Stiles’ cock? 

Stiles groaned just thinking about it, pressing his face against Jackson’s shoulder and soaking up his warmth. He humped their hands all warm and slick now and perfect. Jackson was shuddering, pliant for just a moment, slack against the opposite wall and letting Stiles take and take. 

He bit back semi-lucid words as he got closer and closer, endless lines from endless porn flicks trapped behind his teeth because that kind of stuff just sounded stupid out loud. 

When Stiles came it was with a high-pitched whine that he’d be embarrassed about if it wasn’t for the fact that he’d made Jackson come all over himself by biting his neck, so what-ever-the-fuck-anyways. 

The aftermath was dark and damp with their breath and the faint sheen of sweat that had broken out along Stiles’ lower back. “I wasn’t expecting that,” Stiles said. His hands were all sticky. 

“Don’t ruin it with your big mouth,” Jackson sniped back. Stiles kissed him hard just because he could and because Jackson was a douche. 

\--

Jackson would never admit on pain of vicious death that it was nice to be stuck in here with Stiles. By necessity they were pressed together like twins in the womb. Jackson leaned back against the wall, holding them both up while Stiles pressed against his chest. They’d used the blankets to clean up as well as they could but everything was still too hot and damp. Not unpleasant, chasing away the chill that had settled into his bones. 

Outside he swore he could still feel them moving in the dark, always looking for him. (He would be more willing to admit out loud that he was close to giving up; cracking under the pressure and it would be so easy to give in and meet his fate because what were they even trying to accomplish--). 

Stiles mumbled something against his throat. The skin there was chewed raw and bruised and Jackson took a shaky breath through his teeth. It made something in his abdomen go hot and liquid. It just didn’t work between him and Lydia, not like it used to--something important broke when the rest of humanity did but Jackson didn’t have a name for it. He didn’t have a name for this either but he was a huge fan of simply ignoring things he didn’t have words for. 

“If Lydia leaves will you?” Stiles asked in the darkness. Jackson had a watch but time didn’t really matter anymore so he didn’t bother to check it. 

“No.” The tension was back in his jaw and shoulders. Why couldn’t Stiles just keep his mouth shut? 

“Why not?” 

Because the world was dangerous. Because he wanted to puke his guts out when they came near him, a vicious tearing feeling in his throat like his heart was trying to break his chest open. “There’s nothing out there. **It’s dead.** ”

Stiles was silent for long enough that Jackson began to relax. Share your feelings time had never been his favourite. 

“Scott.” Stiles began hesitantly, leaving the name hanging there for a long moment before picking it up again. “He thinks that I’m looking for my Dad.” 

Scott was the one looking for his Mom; he talked about her shyly to Allison while Allison smiled back and Lydia looked on with that look on her face that meant she wanted to rip someone apart. She’d been the queen bee before, his princess and they’d been perfect. The past and the present and he couldn’t help that think any other time and he would have hated Scott and Stiles and probably even Allison. 

“It keeps him happy I think.” Jackson was privately glad he couldn’t see Stiles’ face--his voice sounded so hollow, like he’d been scraped out inside and Jackson knew how that felt. The slide of the knife, his own voice moaning in horror and disbelief. He’d stabbed and stabbed, those stupid Japanese steel knives his mother bought despite never cooking were razor sharp. It had slipped into the chest cavity, rotting blood spilling out, making everything slick. Jackson couldn’t tell you how he’d gotten out from under them, everything went sort of hazy, just knew that he’d almost decapitated his father and jabbed the knife as far as it would go into his mother’s eye and left it there while she crumpled to the ground. He’d then gone to the bathroom, casually got in the shower to wash the blood off. 

Even now he shied away from the memory, lashing out at anything that tried to hurt him. 

Stiles was still talking. Sounds trying to press against his brain when all it wanted was to curl away from the truth. 

“The truth is that my Dad died in the riots. He was a police officer and went to try and _protect_ people and they killed him. It’s just so unfair.”

Stiles was taut like a line against him. Each muscle tight, like he needed to do something with the energy crackling under his skin. 

He wasn’t sure what he was doing but it was better than doing nothing. Jackson dipped his head and he missed Stiles mouth to land a wet kiss on his cheek. He mouthed his way over to his nose, feeling out the shape in the dark. Stiles’ laugh sounded more like a sob. 

They kissed wet and messy but without intent. Jackson didn’t _mean_ to be comforting, but he wasn’t going to stop Stiles from drawing comfort from him. He wrapped his arms around Stiles’ shoulders bringing him in closer. 

They weren’t his parents, they adopted him and never treated him like a _son_. Jackson never said I love you. Not even when he had to kill them. Stiles clung to him and Jackson let him and shut up and didn’t say anything. 

\--

“They’ve been gone too long,” Scott said. He was visibly agitated, pacing by the door and cocking his head to listen. 

There wasn’t anything to hear. Lydia’s stomach ached because Jackson was out there and he had nothing but Stiles to watch his back. He’d already proven that when backed into a corner he could take care of himself, but that was before the months of pressing silence and endless days of staring out at the dead world and feeling dead inside. 

Allison petted her shoulder and Lydia flinched from the contact for a moment before pressing into it like a cat. 

“They’re going to be fine,” Allison said firmly. Like she believed it. Illogical as it was. Lydia relaxed a fraction. 

“Can you know that?” Scott asked, looking to be reassured. 

“No. You need to believe in Stiles,” She said back evenly. Group dynamics they were only as strong as their weakest link. Scott’s weakness was he was too soft, he was itching to rush headlong into unknown danger to find his friend, like Allison had said he did when there was trouble the last time they tried to leave. Allison’s weakness was that she lacked conviction; over the course of the last week, she would make a decision then waffle about it, changing her mind as the others tried to chip away her judgement. She wasn’t going to be the leader they needed until she accepted that she needed to be that woman. 

Lydia’s weakness? Besides the need to have what she wanted, in a word: Jackson.

It was like the perfect storm. It went a little like this: 

“We need to wait for them,” Allison maintained. 

“What if they need help?” Scott replied, clearly not convinced. “What if they got stuck?” 

“Jackson knows his way around the school. We’ve been here forever,” Lydia lied through her teeth. If anyone was going to save them it wasn’t going to be Jackson. Scott believed her, but Allison stared hard at her like she knew what Lydia was thinking.

“We should give them more time,” Allison said but she didn’t sound so sure. Lydia was on the fence; on one hand she wanted Jackson back, and on the other she _knew_ it was a bad idea. 

“Please,” Scott begged, “he’s all I have left.” 

“In the morning,” Allison finally said. She stood up and walked over to Scott. Lydia narrowed her eyes and watched them, the way Scott stared at her with plain adoration that made Allison preen. Lydia toyed with the idea of acting more like Scott, blameless and sincere, before realizing that she didn’t want that anymore. Years and years of playing the game that amounted to nothing. She was so tired. 

Lydia sat down in the corner to wait for morning. At the very least she needed to get Jackson back, she loved him. He reminded her of her life, her parents, her older sister, her friends, and all the stupid things she used to care so much about.

Her eyes felt hot, throat tight. It never occurred to her to mourn for humanity, Jackson was doing enough of that for the both of them--she needed to be the one to keep them alive to keep everything going. 

“Lydia?” Allison was so awkward it was adorable. In another life they could have been friends, sleepovers and lattes and those things that didn’t exist anymore. Her nail polish was chipping, grown out a week where she couldn’t fix it. 

“I had an older sister,” Lydia finally said when her voice felt strong, it came out sounding normal and she was proud. “She’s probably dead, she was away for school. Harvard.” When Lydia watched the world dwindle away she had just accepted her sister’s loss with everything else. She’d seen her parents turn, shot down by the guards at the shelter before that too fell apart and she’d gone looking for the last thing left to her. 

“Maybe she’s not,” Allison prompted. They had this fight already. 

“I don’t believe in false hope,” Lydia replied. She and Jackson hadn’t seen others in months; if so few people survived her sister’s chances were astronomically slim. 

“Sometimes you need to,” Scott said, sitting down on the other side of her, not as close as Allison was but still there. Lydia let her head hit the wall and gave a soft smile. 

“Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to imagine it.” She conceded.

Scott’s smile was ridiculous. Lydia felt herself smiling back. Okay so she freaked out a little there, it was nice to see that they had her back. Next step?

As soon as it was light enough Allison stood by the door frowning at her cross-bow; she was only had a few bolts for it left in the bag she slung around her shoulders. Lydia gripped her crowbar, the weight familiar in her hands. These days power and control meant something different than it did before--it wasn’t the heels and skirts; no, instead it was something solid in her hands.

“Ready?” Scott asked. 

“No.” Allison shifted her grip on the crossbow. Lydia rolled her shoulders. 

“Too bad,” she said tartly. 

They followed the path down to the door to the basement. 

Lydia’s heart was in her throat when she saw it was open. _No_. She was moving towards it drawn to the thought of what she might find down there. Ripped apart and spread across the walls like a toddler she used to baby-sit trying to eat a bowl of Cheerios. Scott’s voice stilled her. 

“Hey. What’s down there?” Scott whispered. Just down the hall the sunlight caught the chrome of a familiar baseball bat. 

“Good boy,” Lydia said out loud, hope bubbling up inside of her. “It’s a safe room.” 

She wasn’t quiet enough and something in the basement moaned. Lydia slammed the door shut with a sound like a gong and two came out of the room, grasping and starved. Allison’s cross bow made a low-resonant sound when it released. Her aim was true and one jerked backwards, arrow sticking out of its face. Scott attacked the other with the pipe they had pulled out of the wall, slamming it into its face over and over until the head was caved in. 

Lydia skirted around the mess to avoid getting it on her shoes. There was one more inside, scrabbling at the door with fingers missing nails, scraped down to bone leaving long smears on the closet door. Lydia bared her teeth at it, wild where no one was looking, and attacked. It didn’t stand a chance, not when she was angry. 

She knocked twice on the door. “Jackson?” 

Hands inside scrambled with the lock for a few moments. It opened as Scott entered the room, Allison guarding the door. Jackson and Stiles spilled out into the light blinking hard. 

“Stiles.” Scott rushed past her and swept his friend up in a bear-hug.

Jackson stared at her from near the door, his clothes were all rumpled and there was a large mouth-shaped bruise on his neck that was damning. She smirked at him feeling oddly not jealous. 

“Basement isn’t secure, a window broke.” Jackson said after she’d drank him in, head to toe revelling in him being alive and well. It felt like acing a test, like victory. 

“There is still the music room,” she replied. 

“This time, let’s all go.” Stiles was bright red, obviously getting an eyeful of his own work for the first time. She hadn’t thought she would need to tell Stiles that Jackson bruised easily. 

\--

Scott was sure he was missing something. Stiles had hated Jackson and Jackson hadn’t been very nice to Stiles at all. 

Now Stiles tended to hover wherever Jackson was sitting nervous and fluttery. Lydia kept giving them sly looks. At least Allison didn’t seem to know what was going on either. Scott was mostly just happy that they got both of them back. Whatever happened they could deal with it as long as they were all alive. 

It had been three more days. Stiles restless during the night, shuffling away and returning with the light. At least it looked like he was getting some sleep; by this point the hollows of his eyes were probably stained like that but he looked less like ‘all work and no play makes Jack a dull boy’. 

“I don’t want to die in high school,” Lydia said. She was pressed up tight between Jackson and Allison. The three of them were soaking up the rays of the sun while Stiles continued to flutter. 

“We’ve got food,” Allison replied, they all knew it wasn’t enough. There were five of them and Scott was already limiting himself as it was and he was just so hungry all the time. 

“There has been less of them outside,” Stiles added. 

Jackson scowled. 

\--

Two more days and the food situation was really becoming a Situation, with a capitol S to emphasize just how not-good it was. There were only so many ways you could stretch a can of peaches and a prayer. 

“You know we can’t stay here,” Stiles whispered against the shorter hairs at the back of Jackson’s head. He assumed that Lydia was involved in the upkeep of his hair. (Stiles shaved his recently, unable to deal with how it felt when it was long and got dirty. Perhaps that was why Lydia and Allison were further along on the sanity spectrum.) 

He hated himself for it, but he slept so much better when he wrapped himself around Jackson, spooning up behind him like something out of Jackson’s stupid novel. Not that Stiles had started reading it. It was one of the only books in here. Still Jackson never fussed and he never pushed him away. The first time he let out a soft little sound and Stiles had hugged him close like a stuffed toy. 

It wasn’t like they could talk about what happened down there, not without everyone watching them. It itched under Stiles skin like nervous energy distracting him at every turn. The bruise on Jackson’s neck slowly began to fade from bright red to a pale purple to a mottled yellow. Funny, he’d never stopped to think about how pale Jackson was before. Nor had he really contemplated how long his eyelashes were. Now he couldn’t seem to stop noticing it. Cannot unsee as it were. 

“You think I don’t know that?” Jackson hissed back. 

The sun was coming up, filtering in through the windows and giving them light. Fucking California never had the mind to be raining.

Stiles pushed his face into Jackson’s shoulder knowing that he’d need to let go in a moment. Just that the warmth and the contact felt good. He was also beginning to see that Jackson didn’t always say what he meant. No, that wasn’t right; he always said what he meant, he just rarely did it to be mean specifically so much as he didn’t know how else to be. It was okay, Stiles gave as good as he got and the memory of the way he fell apart was a powerful motivator. 

It wasn’t like Stiles was watching him or anything--he just didn’t have a lot else to do during the day. He didn’t feel the need to tell Scott that Allison just wasn’t that into him, or to make obsessive escape plans either. He did kind of want to see what face Jackson made when he came. He could always ask Lydia. 

“You should come with us.” 

“I’ll think about it.” 

“I don’t think Lydia would leave you.” Complicated didn’t even begin to cover it when it came to those two. 

“She would too if it came down to it.” Jackson said and he sounded like he meant it. Stiles tightened his grip shoving his hands up under Jackson’s shirt so he could rest them on his stomach the skin hot. Jackson squirmed for a moment before he settled again. 

“At least she wouldn’t burn the school down with you in it.” 

“She can hear you,” Lydia said not even bothering to whisper. Allison giggled and Jackson rolled out of Stiles arms sitting straight. 

“I can explain?” Stiles said scrubbing his hands through his short hair nervously. Cool, real cool. 

“I don’t care?” Lydia shot back, but she at least looked amused Cheshire cat grin in the watery morning light. 

Jackson was glaring at them all. Still, he didn’t hit back when Stiles kicked him in the thigh and Stiles would count that as a victory. 

Scott slept through that whole exchange and didn’t seem to find anything funny about Jackson avoiding him as much as one could avoid someone when space was so severely limited. Stiles was the one to notice it, something moving outside, big and bulky and dark. 

It was a truck. No one else like they were going to come over and bug him so there was a high chance that if he stayed quiet it would just roll on by, and for a long painful moment his heart beat against his throat. He didn’t want new people. It only took one to incite a mob and it wasn’t the biters you needed to worry about. They were the least complicated thing out there motivation singular and all-consuming; no, it was the others you needed to watch out for. 

Of course there was what looked like a stunning blond sunning herself in the bed of the truck and that didn’t look so bad. 

Then it stopped by the Yaris. 

“Hey.” Stiles yelped. “That’s _my stuff_.” 

They were a mad dash up to the roof, Lydia clawing at his wrists as she jockeyed to get in front of him. Scott was laughing a little as he shoved Jackson and they spilled out onto the roof. 

Deja vu all over again, only this time he was on the other side. He watched Jackson pick up a tiny rock and whip it so it landed near the foot of the tall man in the black leather jacket that hopped out of the truck to inspect the contents of the car. 

“That’s my stuff.” Stiles huffed yelling just loudly enough to be heard. They met in the foyer, Scott and Jackson on guard with a tall, pale, curly haired boy with huge brown eyes. Stiles was right, the girl was a bomb-shell, blond hair and a tight top showing off the curve of her breasts. 

“Looks like you’re out of gas,” she said back, arching an eyebrow with a small curl to her lips. 

It only took them two hours to decide to go with Erica and Issac; they were part of a larger caravan moving west away from the swarm (well at least that explained why there were more zombies around recently.) 

Only Stiles and Jackson seem to be worried about this at all. Lydia didn’t seem to be overly impressed with Erica but Stiles figured that was because Erica was devouring them with her eyes in a way that was distinctly unsettling. Isaac seemed nice enough. 

With two more sets of eyes, it didn’t take much at all to fill the cans full of gas. Lydia stared longingly at the school. “I really did want to burn it down,” she said at last, almost tenderly. 

“I know.” Jackson pressed a kiss to her hair. For the first time all day, he met Stiles’ eyes before flitting away like a nervous baby deer. 

“You ready for this?” Scott bumped their shoulders together and Stiles put on a brave face. If he couldn’t keep together for himself, at least he could keep his shit contained for Scott. 

“Me? I’m awesome. A caravan huh, that sounds like something your mom would join. She’s a nurse after all and used to taking care of your sorry ass.” Scott cracked a smile at that. “This will be like Mad Max. Yeah?” 

“Yeah, maybe we’ll find your dad too.” 

“Sure.” Stiles agreed softly. 

Lydia was busy shoving the bags she’d put together in the back of the Yaris. With the extra gas it took up the whole back seat. With a shit-tonne of false bravado, Stiles jumped up into the back of the truck while Allison took shotgun in the Yaris.

Lydia pulled herself up into the cab with him, both of them turning back to look at Jackson. He barely even paused, just grabbed the hand Stiles reached out for him and allowed himself to be pulled up into the bed too. 

Stiles picked out the biology room window. He really wasn’t going to miss it, even if he’d finally adjusted to the new normal, Jackson and Lydia were both staring at the school with unreadable expressions. The truck lurched and began to pick its way slowly along the debris-strewn road. From the forest the undead shambled forward, drawn by the sound of the engine. 

Allison leaned out of the Yaris, sitting on the open window with a fancy looking bow. 

“What’s she doing?” Stiles asked out loud even as she messed with something they couldn’t see. Stiles had never seen a real flaming arrow before, only had a few moments to look at the rag wrapped around the tip before she pulled back and let it fly. The shot went straight, arcing up and in through an open window. 

There was nothing for a moment. Allison frowned and the truck stopped. Isaac leaning out of the passenger window to watch. 

There was a loud bang and black smoke began to bellow out from the open window. Allison looked at them, all smiles and holding the bow loose like she was some kind of Katniss. On the other side of Jackson Lydia let out a whoop of joy. 

The Yaris beeped once as Allison slid back inside and the truck started off again. 

As they settled in, Stiles found Jackson’s hand sitting oddly palm up near his own. Jackson wasn’t looking at him, instead staring out as the town began to give way to forest. Stiles laced their fingers together and Jackson didn’t look at him but he did squeeze his fingers back. 

You couldn’t really have humanity without human contact. 

 

 

\--

Epilogue: 

The first nights with the new group had been the worst. They didn’t have a home yet and they were a family, Erica like a fire cracker explosive and colourful, with her side-kick Isaac quietly vicious like he was working a life of pent up issues out on the biters. Boyd was huge and solid, built like a tank and with the psychological stability that was sorely lacking in everyone else. They were led by siblings, Derek and Laura. Stiles hated them. Jackson hated everything. Like awkward newly minted step-children they stuck to their own groups and barely managed overtures of companionship at each other. 

They spent the night in a motel, as ironic as it was. A bed that had seen better days and countless thousands of travellers. Scott had looked at him strange when Stiles grabbed Jackson and hustled him into one of the rooms; the flimsy fence around the whole thing had once functioned to keep hooligans out of the pool and now afforded them a little respite from the roaming masses of undead. 

Stiles pressed Jackson into the bed, ignoring the lies that spilled from his lips and biting at his chest until he whined only half bitten curses. They fucked for the first time that night, Jackson face down in the mattress and surrounded by hastily stolen condoms. Jackson would arch his back, twisting until Stiles could just kiss him, biting at his cheek and feeling Jackson gasp and groan under his hands. 

He was still a douche-bag but he was arguably Stiles’ douche-bag. Stiles figured out that reality was even better than fantasy. 

Allison never stopped looking at the fence once they finally began to settle into the prison. She’d go through phases where she lingered by the gate while the biters beat themselves senseless against the wire as they desperately grabbed for her. 

Lydia would sit in the watch tower and watch her or read through the piles of books on biochemistry that the scavengers would bring back for her. Laura, of all people was the first to see the potential in her and would always have a new text book when she came back if there was room in the packs. Allison only stopped looking so longingly at the fence when Laura was bitten; Derek had been the one to shoot her, his face twisted in anguish before retreating to lick his wounds and leaving them to bury her. That night Lydia crawled into Allison’s bed in the old prison block and pressed her face against Allison’s hair. 

After that Allison didn’t look at the fence anymore, instead stepping up to help Derek run the group. She always brought Lydia back books, and sat there in the tower picking off biters with her bow while Lydia read and compiled notes.

Scott was the only one that Derek seemed to the like. He tolerated the rest of them and protected them but he didn’t _like_ them. Stiles thought that in another life Derek was a serial killer. Lydia thought that he must not have been hugged enough as a kid. Jackson thought he was freak. 

It took Jackson a long time to stop looking so vacant. He never stopped volunteering to go out on the scavengers like he had something to prove. For the most part between Lydia and Stiles they could keep their eye on him. Derek and him fought, Erica and him fought. Jackson didn’t know how to be anything but himself. Which was okay. Stiles was a budding masochist as well as a sadist because he liked Jackson just fine that way. 

They spent long hours patrolling the borders and scavenging the meagre remains of the nearest city. Erica sulked, Isaac let her put lipstick on him, Boyd had struck up an odd friendship with Stiles that Jackson would never admit made him jealous. 

Stiles confessed about his father one night when he was having another fight with Jackson. He and Scott locked themselves in a cell and began to work through a bottle of tequila they had liberated from the remains of a corner store. Scott stared at him with huge sad eyes and Stiles bumped him with his shoulder. It didn’t make it okay but it made it better having Scott there to share some of the pain with him; they drank and they drank and Scott let him cry while they shared memories of what an awesome Dad he’d been. 

Allison was in the watch tower when a ragged group of four stumbled running from the woods with their hands up in the universal sign of ‘I’m still alive’ Allison notched two arrows in rapid succession picking off two biters that had been hanging around the gate. 

“People,” she breathed and Lydia looked up from her book; she was used to the thwak-twang of Allison’s bow so much that it didn’t even register anymore. 

They scrambled down the stairs yelling for Jackson who was closest. 

The strangers were filthy and stumbling along as if they were held together with little more than desperation and sheer will-power. 

Jackson levelled his gun on them easily, shoulders tense like Stiles had somehow sexually transmitted his phobia of strangers. Two men, one limping heavily and a woman helping them the other hanging back to watch the gate close behind them her spine ram-rod straight. 

Slowly the rest of the group trickled in to see what was going on, save for Scott, Stiles, Erica and Derek who were off looking for canned goods and other things they could stock-pile. 

“Welcome,” Allison said, holding her bow lightly. 

“Peter?” Isaac asked, stepping forward with a wide dazzling smile on his face. 

“Hey short stuff.” Peter laughed, wheezing. Apparently Peter was related to Derek and had been separated early in their caravan, but the plan had always been to come here. “This is Melissa, Bianca, and Deaton.” He pointed to the others sequentially and they nodded when their names were called.

“We need to get him sitting down,” Melissa said. Peter was leaning on her rather heavily. 

“Follow me.” Isaac shrugged, Jackson taking up the rear, eyeing them suspiciously. 

No one would have even guessed until the scavengers came back just before dusk riding in on the last of the night and Allison let them in. They’d found someone’s underground stash filled with food and batteries. 

“Mom?” Scott asked as soon as he passed the threshold where they were holding the new people coming to an almost comical shocked full stop. 

“Scott? Honey.” She stood up so fast the cup of water she had been holding fell to the ground with a clatter. 

“Mrs. McCall!” Stiles added and she laughed like a sob. 

“I should have known you’d survive Stiles.” Then they were hugging while Jackson shifted from foot to foot looking nervous and out of place. Lydia wrapped an arm around Allison’s waist, pressing her cheek against her shoulder in comfort as even her throat felt tight. 

“If your Dad can be found, we’ll find him.” Lydia whispered against her neck and Allison nodded tightly. She watched Scott so happy and so sad that she didn’t know what to do with it but take the cold comfort in Lydia’s empty words and let it sooth over the worst.

“Great, more mouths to feed,” Erica said but she was smiling.

**Author's Note:**

> I would like to thank first and foremost Track_04 who listened to me whine, let me bounce ideas off of her and finally gave the whole thing the spit and polish it needed as my beta. This wouldn’t be anything without you. A little bit of The Walking Dead, a little Left 4 Dead, and as always a little Shaun of the Dead.
> 
> Originally written for the Teen Wolf holiday exchange 2012


End file.
